


Celest

by spitfyah



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, America/England Feels (Hetalia), Based off of the movie Oblivion, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 01:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6684199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spitfyah/pseuds/spitfyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Kirkland is a space pilot devoid of memories from his past- all he knows is that he works for his government, the Celest, to defeat the evil Rebels of the Colonies. But when a new pilot recruited from the Colonies is paired up with him to fly an airship together, Arthur will learn that his perfect government is not what it seems. Space-pilot USUK!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celest

_Year 2021_

People scream in terror, racing through the streets, searching for safety though there is none. Warcraft- fighter planes- hover above, blotting out any sight of the sky as they fire down at everyone below.

The rogues of the Colonies have been rebellious, and this will be their punishment.

Military personnel, dressed in their monochrome uniforms, storm through the streets, shooting down civilian after civilian, blood staining the ground, houses blazing as they are set on fire. Smoke billows in the air as the general of the military marches into house after house, searching for a specific person. To collect pre-selected soldiers for the government is his duty, and to defy duty is death, as the Colonies will learn.

Two figures huddle in their cellar, panting harshly and clutching each other as footsteps sound above them. The smaller whispers, "I was pre-selected l-last week. They'll find us-"

"They won't," fiercely hisses the other, holding him close. His heart thuds as the ominous footsteps stop right above the cellar. Murmuring voices sound, causing the smaller to shudder.

Ripping off the cellar door swiftly, soldiers flood into the rank basement, the general staring at the two young males on the floor. He points to the smaller. "Take him."

Shrieking as he is pulled away from his partner, the smaller blonde thrashes, struggling out of the soldiers' grip. The other, with a snarl, attacks whomever dare touch his partner. Both, the general realizes with a smirk, are quite the troublesome duo. They both would have been wonderful additions to the military once their minds were wiped, but, he supposes, he was only supposed to return with one.

Pulling out his gun, the general fires twice at the taller, satisfied as he crumples to the ground. The smaller screams out, " _Alfred!"_ and is quickly stunned with a taser, collapsing limply into the arms of the soldiers. The general orders the house to be set on fire, and he and his squadron leave the house to burn.

The Colonies of Earth would be subjected under the government. Whomever they collected for the military would have their minds wiped and their genetics altered, made more powerful, yet still under the control of the government.

None would rebel ever again, or so the government thought.

—

_Day One_

A single light turns on.

"Who are you?"

There's a chair under the light- the figure tied to it remains silent, head down.

"I am Arthur Kirkland."

A harsh slap resounds in the dark room. Observers in the shadows watch as a man, a government official, circles one who so desperately claims individuality.

"Who are you?" The man repeats, eyes glinting.

The one tied to the chair slowly raises his head, green eyes narrowed. "I," he growls, "am _Arthur Kirkland_."

Lips curl into a snarl- the man turns to walk out of the room, leaving the figure tied to the chair. He passes another, a scientist in a white coat, and hisses, "Wipe him."

To have a sense of individuality is illegal- you belong to the government, and if you do not acknowledge who owns you during identification, you will be fixed until you do.

Screams can be heard down the hall as Arthur Kirkland's mind is wiped.

—

The aftermath of the war scars everyone. Neighborhoods are destroyed. Blood stains every street, every porch, every house, and lifeless bodies can be seen everywhere you step. Not many of the Colonists are left, but you can hear the wailing of those who are.

Since the military has cleared, scavengers roam the streets: though it's rare to see a car pass by, a dirt-streaked white van slowly passes through the streets of a certain Floridian town. The young driver inside flips his blonde hair over his shoulder, gagging at the reek of blood hanging in the air. He navigates to the side of the road, parks, and jumps out, grabbing his medical kit.

Grey clouds above indicate rain is on the way.

A group of worn stragglers approach the van, all dirty hair and mud-streaked faces. "Francis," one breathes out. "Where have you been?"

Francis rubs his nose with the back of his hand, advancing toward the first body he sees on the street. The small group follows, stopping as he stops at various corpses. With a grim expression, he kneels, gloved fingers examining body after dead body, hoping to find a pulse.

"I've been looking for someone."

"Someone?" A wary voice asks. "Are you not loyal to the Cause?"

Francis turns, facing the group with a dark expression. "Your _Cause_ has brought destruction to this entire planet. Actions of a few Rebels turned the wrath of the government on all of us."

Easily, they are silenced, eyeing the floor morosely. Francis continues to search, weary and sullen, continuing in a softer voice, "The military have begun modifying humans. Genetically modifying."

"More than half of the Rebels have been killed off," one whispers. "If we don't have their technology, we'll be subject to the government for the entirety of our lives."

"That," Francis says, "Is why I've been looking for someone. Someone strong enough to disable the government."

"You're going to create a damned _superhuman_? Are you crazy?!"

Francis straightens up and turns toward them once again. "I'm going to study the government's genetically modified humans. Then I'll develop one of my own- one that can sneak into the government's airship and dismantle the entire-" Pausing, Francis glances at a body behind him, chest barely heaving, barely noticeable.

"My God," one of the group gasps. "Is he still alive?"

Kneeling, Francis feels his pulse after frantically ordering his makeshift crew to fetch his bandages and alcohol from his kit. The man's been shot twice- once in the head and once in the gut- and he is horribly burned. He should be dead.

And Francis knows this is the man he's been looking for.

—

Time passes. The Rebels grow again, the Colonies recover from the devastating attacks, and the military finally leaves. Though they now orbit the Earth in their massive airship, the Celest, they have eyes everywhere in the Colonies- quickly, people learn not to trust each other.

And quickly, the Rebels are preparing for another war.

Francis walks down the halls of the underground Rebel facility, adjusting his glasses, white lab coat flaring out behind him. Preparations are almost complete- their airship is almost built.

Stepping into the training lab, Francis catches sight of the man he rescued almost three years ago, lifting weights too heavy for the average human to lift. Smiling fondly, Francis closes the door, and chuckles, "You've been doing well."

He sets down the weights and glances at Francis, grinning at the familiar face. "Just releasing some nervous energy." His smile fades as Francis looks away. "Is... is something wrong, Francis?"

"It's time to go now," Francis speaks slowly, trying to calm the shake in his voice. "Do you remember your mission?"

"Of course," He says clearly, surely, face determined. "You want me to save Arthur."

"And why do I want you to save him?"

"Because he's the only one who can take down the Celest. He's powerful. He's a weapon that we want on our side."

Francis nods, rubs his hands together anxiously. He touches the other's shoulders- it's quite high of a reach since he is at least 7 inches taller thanks to his being genetically modified- and smiles nervously. "Be careful. Don't blow your cover."

"Of course," He says again, smiling softly.

A voice fades in from the walkie talkie in Francis's coat pocket. "We're ready, Francis. Bring him in."

Francis breathes out sharply, beckons for the other to follow him, and they walk down the dimly lit halls. "I updated your chip. Whatever brainwashing tests the government will run on you, it won't affect your memory."

"I know, Fran. You've told me three times."

Smiling, Francis allows himself a moment of emotion- he turns, embraces the other, and whispers, "Please. Whatever you do, please come back."

Warm arms wrap around him. "I'll be back before you know it."

It'll be long before they meet again.


End file.
